


Q.T.

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, First Dates, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Texting, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Q.T.

The morning of February 14th began just as any other for Dean. Holidays, with rare exception, had always been like that for him—he was aware of their coming and going, connecting the date to its cultural significance in a vague sort of way, but he almost never gave them more observance than the weather. They were for people with normal lives—married people with 2.5 kids and a dog and possibly one of those mythical white picket fences, or whatever. And, you know, anniversaries that marked the lengths of relationships rather than time since last death.

Their lives weren’t like other people’s.

So, while Dean had seen the date on his phone when he woke up and had some vague sort of notion that it was Valentine’s Day, it didn’t affect him in the least as he went about his normal morning routine of making breakfast for his brother and himself.

That is, until a vibration in his back jeans pocket interrupted his omelet-making.

Keeping one hand on his spatula, he dug his phone out of his pocket and frowned at the message from Cas:

_Cheeseburgers and pie tonight, qt? ;)_

Something churned hotly within him, but, unsure, he turned towards Sam, who was already munching on his egg white omelet and sipping his morning tea. “What the hell does ‘Q.T.’ stand for?” he asked in confusion.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “Cas?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “He’s gonna need a freaking emoticon intervention soon, Sam. Dude’s been texting me nonstop with abbreviations and weird faces I can hardly make out.”

Sam chuckled. “Okay, old man, just read me the full thing so I have context?”

Dean squinted back at his screen. “It just says, ‘cheeseburgers and pie tonight, Q.T.?’”

In the act of reading it, Dean experienced one of those mortifying moments well known to all older siblings who have blundered in such a way as to give their younger sibling teasing ammunition for the next god-even-knows-how-long. And yet his realization of the meaning of the abbreviation upon hearing it aloud did not occur in enough time to save himself.

Sam nearly spit his black tea everywhere as he burst out into laughter.

Dean was even more ashamed to realize that his face was turning red, and so he determinedly pocketed his phone and turned back to his omelet, which would soon go from crispy to burned, mumbling disgruntledly under his breath.

It took a good long while for Sam to stop laughing before he finally took a deep breath, wiping tears from his eyes. “Looks like you have a Valentine’s date, cutie,” he teased delightedly.

And oh, _fuck_ , it was Valentine’s Day.

The realization hit Dean hard, and he looked back towards Sam with horror, his omelet left to certain doom.

“Cas is fucking taking me out for _Valentine’s Day_?” he asked in disbelief.

Sam looked at him in bemusement. “And?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed. “Well—that’s—that means that it’s—”

“…A date?” Sam finished for him.

Dean nodded frantically. 

“A date with cheeseburgers, pie, and Castiel,” Sam enumerated helpfully, “which, last I checked, are three of the things you most love in the world, and yes—” Sam confirmed before Dean could interrupt him, “I did say love. Just go with it, Dean.”

Dean spent most of the morning after his (charred) breakfast in an increasingly panicked state as he realized that he had not yet responded to Cas’s text. He felt like a freaking teenage girl—carefully analyzing each letter of Cas’s message, considering the implications of ‘qt’ versus ‘cutie,’ looking at the semicolon and the paranthesis that made up the winky face until neither looked real anymore. He finally grabbed his phone in a fit of desperation and sent back a carefully casual message: _bunker @ 7?_

Cas immediately sent back a series of emoticons of various foods and drinks and smiley faces—concluding with a heart.

Even through his increasing nausea, Dean couldn’t help but think about how damn _cute_ his best friend was, this contradiction of a walking nuclear power plant who also did things like talk to bees and use emoticons and, apparently, flirt with Dean.

When Cas finally arrived at seven after a long afternoon chalk-full of several existential crises and a great deal of time in the bunker’s gun range, any last vestiges of doubt concerning Cas’s intentions were gone as Cas proffered a rose, just as he had done at Nora’s.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean,” he said with a warm smile that made Dean’s insides squirm pleasantly.

“So,” Dean coughed awkwardly, taking the flower as the question tumbled out of him against his will, “uh, earlier, that was. You know. Flirting?”

And Jesus fucking Christ, how did he, Dean Winchester, have the ability to charm the pants off of practically any girl in the country, and yet self-destruct when presented with a flirtatious abbreviation, a winky face, and a rose?

Cas just gave him one of those smiles that was entirely unique to him that seemed to start in the corner of his mouth before spreading to his entire face. “Yes, Dean, that was a flirtation,” he confirmed.

He never would have thought even a couple years ago that Castiel would ever be telling him what constituted flirting—especially with such confidence, as if the fucker _knew_ what kind of effect he had on Dean, but, here they were.

Dean just nodded contemplatively until he felt a switch turn within him.

He could do this. He could have this. Cas was making it so easy for him. Most things in his life were hard, but this?

“You should know, Cas,” he began teasingly, running his thumb along his lip in that nervous way he did sometimes, “a date buys me pie? Pretty much a guarantee I’ll be putting out later.” He raised his eyebrows challengingly, testing this thing between them.

Cas’s familiar corner-mouth smile turned into a full on grin, and damn, Cas didn’t smile enough. He wanted to make Cas smile like that all the time.

“I was sort of counting on it,” Cas responded mischievously, tilting his head.

And Dean knew he was supposed to wait until the end of the date for this, but fuck it, he needed that smile under his mouth _years_ ago and he and Cas had never been much for following the rules, so he just grabbed him by the lapels of his trench coat and planted a kiss on those pink lips, firm and quick, until Cas was pulling him closer and the kiss was deepening—

It was Cas who finally pulled away, albeit reluctantly. “Food then sex,” he said with that typical Cas solemnity—and of course Cas would take on a date with the same gravitas as a heavenly mission, of course he would.

Dean just smirked and put an arm around his best friend, surprised that it felt like they had been doing this for years, and hell, maybe they had been. “Yeah, okay, Cas. I’m driving. Still don’t like that pimpmobile of yours,” he teased.

“It is not a pimpmobile, Dean,” Cas insisted as they headed for the bunker’s garage. “It is a perfectly functional car that—”

As they bickered good naturedly about Cas’s poor choice in transportation and Dean’s lack of texting literacy, Dean realized that maybe in the future, he would have reason to give holidays more significance than the passing weather.


End file.
